Читать книгу No Way Home - Jack Slater - Страница 10

CHAPTER TWO

Kid was the fourth name he’d answered to in his fourteen years, but he’d accepted it readily. It was kind of cool. Sounded like an Old West hero. A new name for a new life. And he’d been happy with both over the past few weeks. The fair’s season started at Easter. He’d wandered in that weekend and somehow stayed. Been offered a bed for the night, in exchange for manning a stall while the owner went off to answer a call of nature that a stomach bug had made both urgent and protracted.

Since then, he’d moved from the stall to a ride, then on to the dodgems. Had thought he’d found his place in life. But now all that was ruined. Had they known he was here? Had they been looking for him? Or was it just chance? Just dumb bloody luck?

He didn’t know and now wasn’t the time to be thinking about it.

He darted around a couple with a kid of about four and almost ran into a looming, dark figure. Stopped himself just in time, rearing back.

‘Hey! Watch it, sonny.’

‘Sorry, mate.’ He jumped to the left and went around the big man, between two big diesel generators, leaping over the fat, black cables that snaked away from them across the tarmac. Now he was in the semi-darkness of the promenade, between the fair and the shoreline, where few people bothered to go in the dark. He could make some time here, get some distance. He ran headlong eastward, towards where the fair’s caravans were bunched in an out-of-the-way corner beyond the naval academy. If he could get there, grab his stuff – not that he had much – and get away, he could hide out for a couple of days or so. Tonight was the fair’s last night in Plymouth before they moved on. He could rejoin them in the next town.

‘Oi!’ The shout came from behind him. A male voice full of authority. ‘Stop. Police.’

The kid ignored him, running on at full speed, feet slapping on the paving, breath rasping in his throat. He didn’t know how much longer he could keep up this pace, had never been great on stamina, but he had to get away. He couldn’t let them catch him.

Heavier feet than his own were slapping the pavement, coming fast behind him. He didn’t look back. He knew better than that: just kept going, chest heaving, throat raw, arms and legs pumping. He was almost past the big, pale block of the naval building. HMS whatever-it-was. Bloody stupid thing to call a building. How pretentious and up themselves did they have to be, to do that?

Uniforms. They were all the same. The forces. The fuzz. The lot of them.

Beyond the high stone wall darkness loomed, welcoming and safe. Only a few yards further and he could hide and rest until the coast was clear, get his stuff and be gone before they searched properly for him. He made the far end. Kept going. A dark bulk loomed at him out of the darkness.

‘Shit,’ he cursed, dodging right. But he was too close to the iron railing along the edge of the prom. He hit it with his shoulder, bouncing off into a pair of arms that snaked around him and clamped tight. ‘Whoah. Hold up there, sonny. Not so fast, eh?’

He writhed and wriggled. With his arms trapped, he kicked out instead. The figure barely seemed to register the first couple of blows, but then hissed in pain. ‘Damn you, boy. Stop fighting or I’ll hurt you.’

‘Try it.’ He brought his knee up and kicked backwards, his heel connecting with the man’s shin.

‘Ow! That’s it.’

He was lifted bodily off the ground, turned on his side and slammed down to the pavement, a knee coming down over his legs, the shin trapping them so that all he could do was thrash his feet back and forth, but that scraped his right ankle on the paving.

‘Shit. Get off me, bastard. Police brutality! I’ll get you sacked for this. I’ll tell ‘em you felt me up.’

Another figure appeared behind him. ‘Damn, that little bugger can run!’

‘He can bloody kick, too,’ the one holding him replied. ‘Where’s Karen?’

‘She’ll be along in a minute. Do you want my cuffs?’

‘I’ve got his hands. You could wrap his legs up, though. Little shit.’

‘You can’t do that,’ the kid shouted. ‘That’s against my human rights. Child cruelty. I’ll report you. Both of you. I want your names and badge numbers.’

‘We can do that, if we decide it’s best for your own safety,’ said the one holding him. ‘To prevent you from coming to harm while in our care. Health and safety: trump card every time, sonny. Isn’t that right, Qadir?’

‘Yep.’

He felt the cold of metal around his wrist, heard the ratchet as the cuff was squeezed into place.

‘What are the charges?’ he demanded. ‘What are you arresting me for?’

‘Resisting arrest.’ That was the second one. Qadir. Though he didn’t sound like a Qadir. He sounded completely local.

The kid’s arm was pulled around behind him. Then the other one.

‘And assaulting a police officer,’ the guy on top of him added. The second cuff was snapped into place and cinched up.

‘But, what were you chasing me for in the first place? You never told me that.’ He felt the big guy get up off him. ‘For all I knew, you were planning to attack me. Just ‘cause you’re in uniform doesn’t mean you’re not some kind of pervert.’

He was lifted bodily by the shoulders of his coat.

‘Ankles,’ the first one said as he planted him squarely on the ground.

‘Hey! You can’t do that.’

He felt big hands clamp like iron bands around his ankles. He tried to kick out, to free himself, but was held firm. ‘We’ve already had that conversation. And you lost.’ A Velcro strap was wrapped round and round his lower legs and he was stuck.

‘What are you doing?’ A female voice came from the darkness behind him and relief sang through the kid.

‘Where’ve you been?’ Qadir countered, killing the kid’s relief in an instant. Karen, he thought. The missing colleague.

‘He was kicking the shit out of my shins,’ the first one told her.

‘Yeah, but we’re not meant to be…’

‘He ran,’ Qadir interrupted. ‘He must have a reason. So, he’s under arrest until we find out what it is.’

‘You chased me,’ the kid said loudly. ‘What was I supposed to do? I didn’t know what you were up to. Could have been anything. Civil liberties, mate. You’re bloody taking one.’

‘You’ve got the right to remain silent,’ said Qadir. ‘How about you use it?’

The kid felt himself pushed from behind, couldn’t step forward, so bent at the waist. Then the other one’s arm went under his middle and he was lifted bodily off the ground.

‘Hey! Put me down, you fucker!’

‘If he does, you won’t like it. Now, shut up and hold still.’

*

‘The hunt for missing ten-year-old Molly Bowers ended today, when her body was found by police with a cadaver dog in woodland outside Stoke-on-Trent,’ the reporter said solemnly into the camera. ‘She’d been buried in a shallow grave, her clothes seemingly tossed in after her like so much rubbish. Detective Chief Inspector Daniel Taft was interviewed at the scene.’

Pete caught his wife’s expression and switched channels quickly.

Louise looked at him, her eyes wide and tearful at the tragedy of the case: a young life snuffed out, the body discarded with no more respect than you’d have for an empty milk carton.

It was eleven months, all but two days, since their son had gone missing. At least they knew he was still alive – or had been a few weeks before Christmas, when he’d broken into the home they sat in now with the evening news bringing back memories neither of them needed reminding of. It wasn’t as if they ever stopped thinking about him. Pete had taken five months off until a big drugs case had pulled him back to the station and circumstances had conspired to keep him there. Louise had gone back to work as a nurse in the Devon and Exeter Hospital only two and a half weeks ago, having been unable to face it until then.

Pete could guess what she was thinking. Their eleven-year-old daughter was asleep in the room above them as they sat there.

‘Annie’s as safe as any young girl can be,’ he said.

‘I expect Molly Bowers’ family thought the same, though, didn’t they?’

He tilted his head. She had a point. ‘You’ve checked Facebook and so on?’

They had taken on the task of searching for their son after Pete’s colleagues had no success. Posters had been put up all around Exeter, in spite of the bylaw against them. Newspaper articles had been published. The local TV stations had done interviews. Missing persons charities had got involved. Social media pages had been set up. They’d done, and were doing, everything they could think of to track down their son.

‘I did all that when I came in,’ she said. ‘I don’t understand. I mean, where the hell can a fourteen-year-old boy be, all this time? It’s not as if he’s big for his age, could be mistaken for an adult, is it? So, how’s he still out there?’

They had long accepted that he was missing of his own free will. The evidence was irrefutable. But Louise refused to even acknowledge the possibility that any harm had come to him.

Pete sighed and reached for her hand. ‘It does make you wonder, doesn’t it?’

The phone chirped on the coffee table in front of him and he reached for it quickly, not wanting to let it wake Annie. ‘Gayle.’

With no open cases that demanded overnight action and the dog-fighting case all wrapped up – Jim had walked back into the barn moments after Pete noticed he was gone, leading three other coppers and two handcuffed detainees – Pete was on call for the night. Any case that arose requiring CID involvement would come to him.

‘Pete, it’s Bob.’ The duty sergeant at Heavitree Road police station. ‘I’ve just had a call from Plymouth. They’ve got Tommy.’

Pete felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. ‘What?’

‘Your lad. He’s at Crownhill. He was spotted working on the fair, down on the Hoe.’

‘Jesus Christ. Thanks, Bob. I’ll give them a call.’

He put the phone down in a daze.

‘What is it?’ Louise’s voice sounded like it was coming through a long tunnel. ‘What’s wrong? Pete!’

‘Huh?’ He blinked, staring at her dumbly. ‘They’ve…’ His eyes closed for a moment as his brain tried to process the information. Then he opened them, looked at his wife again. ‘They’ve found Tommy. He’s…’

He stopped as a wail erupted from her throat. He took her hands, stared into her tear-filled eyes. ‘He’s alive, Lou. He’s OK. They’ve got him in Crownhill station in Plymouth.’

‘Oh, my God! Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. He’s OK? Where’s he been? What’s he doing in Plymouth, for God’s sake? He’s in…? What’s he doing there? Have they arrested him? What’s he done?’ She clung to him, pleading for answers that he couldn’t give.

‘I don’t know, Lou. Give me a chance, I’ll find out.’

‘Dad? Mum?’

Pete hadn’t heard Annie’s feet on the stairs, but now she stood in the doorway, dressed in her favourite Winnie-the-Pooh nightie. He glanced down and saw that her feet were bare.

‘What’s all the ruckus about? Have they…?’ She swallowed, unable to go on.

‘Yes, love. They have.’ Pete held a hand out to her. ‘They’ve found Tommy. Alive and OK.’

‘Oh, God, that’s brilliant!’ She ran to him, clasping him into a desperate hug. ‘Where is he? When’s he coming home?’

‘I haven’t got any details yet, Button. All I know is, he’s at the police station in Plymouth. He was working on a fairground.’

‘But…’ She stopped, too confused to even form a question.

‘I need to give them a call and find out what’s going on.’

She blinked owlishly. Pete took a step back, directing his wife and daughter into each other’s arms while he made the call. They clung to each other, both watching him intently.

Pete found that his hands were shaking as he tried to dial the number from memory. Then he couldn’t remember the correct order of the last three digits. ‘Shit. What’s the bloody number? Hang on.’ He went out to the hall, found their personal phone listing and flipped it open at the letter P.

Quickly, he finished dialling and held the phone to his ear. It rang once, twice, a third time, a fourth. ‘Come on,’ he muttered.

There was a click. ‘Devon and Cornwall Police, Plymouth. How can I help?’

‘Hello. This is DS Gayle, Exeter CID. I’m told you’ve got my son there: Thomas James Gayle.’

‘One moment, sir.’ More clicks, half a ring. A different voice.

‘Custody suite.’

Custody? They’ve got him in the cells? What the hell has he done? ‘He…’ His voice clogged up and he coughed to clear it. ‘Sorry. DS Gayle here, Exeter CID. I’ve been put through to you from your front desk. I understand my son’s there, in the station.’

‘Gayle? Thomas James?’

‘That’s right. What’s the deal?’

‘He was brought in a couple of hours ago. A patrol officer recognised him from the misper notice, but he didn’t come willingly. Hence he’s in the cells here. Assaulting a police officer; resisting arrest; possession of an illegal weapon, specifically a knife. We thought that would do for now.’

‘Jesus!’ Pete shook his head, bewildered. What the hell was going on? What had Tommy got tied up in? ‘I was told he was found at a fairground. What’s the story there?’

‘Seems like he’s been with them since Easter. Just mucked in when they needed it, helped out and became part of the setup by default. Saw the chance of a new life, I suppose. It never ceases to amaze me, the number of kids who run away to join the circus or the fair. I don’t know what it is about that kind of lifestyle that’s so attractive. Seems like a lot of hard work and rough living to me.’

‘And the charges. Is there anything we can do there? I’m not trying to get him off because I’m in the job. We need him as a witness in a child-sex case.’

‘I knew the name was familiar. You’re the one that cracked that big paedophile ring, right?’

‘Yeah, that’s me.’

In the course of his first case after returning to work, Pete and his team had uncovered a ring of paedophiles that extended from Cornwall north to the West Midlands and east to the Home Counties. Thirty-seven arrests had been made by seven different forces just the previous month, some of them of prominent men in local government and even the police itself.

‘Well done, mate. I know it reflects badly on the force, but we were glad to get rid of Markham. The bloke was a self-aggrandising arsehole. No more use as a copper than I’d be as a brain surgeon.’

Pete knew he was talking about Chief Superintendent Markham, who’d been in charge of the Plymouth station until his arrest last month in a coordinated series of operations that had closed down the whole ring in one morning’s work, organised by his own station chief, DCI Adam Silverstone.

‘Well, that’s what you get for letting politics into policing, eh?’

‘Yeah, along with empire-building, jobs-for-the-boys… Still, what can we do, eh?’

‘That’s right.’ Come on, Pete thought. Answer the bloody question.

‘Anyway. As far as the knife, facts are facts. He was carrying. But, the rest of it can go away if it needs to. If he’s a witness in a case like that... Happens all the time, doesn’t it?’

‘I don’t want him let off just because he’s my son,’ Pete said firmly. ‘If he’s got things to answer for, he’ll answer for them. But yes, we do need him as a witness.’

‘Firm but fair, eh? Only way to be, I reckon. Bit of discipline never hurt anyone. Well, it might have stung a bit at the time, but you know what I mean.’ He laughed.

‘Yes, so…’

‘Get your boss to send the paperwork through and we’ll transfer him to Exeter custody. Might be worth letting him stay put until morning. Just my opinion.’ Pete could almost see the custody sergeant shrug. ‘Teach him a bit of a lesson.’

‘Right. I’ll get onto my chief. Thanks, mate.’

‘No worries.’

Pete ended the call, looked up and saw both Annie and Louise standing in the doorway of the lounge, watching him, their expressions, one above the other, identical. He couldn’t help but smile.

‘So…?’ They said together.

Pete’s smile became a chuckle.

Although Annie’s temperament was much more like his than her mother’s, she got more like Louise every day, in all the good ways.

He shook his head. ‘God, I love the pair of you.’

‘But what about Tommy?’ Annie demanded.

‘Well, I love him too, of course.’

‘Answer the damn question, would you?’ Louise joined in. ‘What’s happening with Tommy?’

The smile stayed on Pete’s face. ‘He’s in Plymouth nick. I need to get hold of Colin, get him to arrange a transfer to Heavitree Road and we can go from there.’

‘So, he’ll be home soon?’ Annie demanded.

‘Well, it depends on your definition of soon, but potentially, yes.’

She squealed and ran to him, wrapping her slender arms around him and squeezing with all her might.

*

Louise was less easily pleased.

Looking over Annie’s head as she clung to him, Pete saw the doubt in her eyes.

‘Why do you need to arrange for a transfer? Has he been arrested or something?’

He tilted his head. ‘Yes. When he was spotted he did a runner, and when they caught him, he was carrying a knife.’

‘A knife?’

Annie picked up on this and stood back, staring up at him, big-eyed.

‘He was working on a fair. I expect he needed it. Tool of the trade, like a farmer or gardener. But when he fought them off, they cuffed him and found it.’

‘He fought them off? This gets worse by the second.’

‘He was in Plymouth, remember. We don’t know how long he’s been there. It could be he doesn’t know we’re not planning to charge him in the Rosie Whitlock case.’

‘Hmm.’ She seemed to relax at least a little. ‘So, you’ve got to get Colin to arrange things, to get him transferred?’

He shrugged. ‘I can’t do it, can I? I’m his dad. How would that look to anyone that didn’t know the history?’

‘OK. So, what are you waiting for?’ She nodded at the phone, which was still in his hand. ‘Get onto him.’

‘It’s nearly eleven. He’ll be in bed, I’d have thought.’

‘So? He’ll understand. He’s Tommy’s godfather, for Christ’s sake. Come on. Either ring him or give me the phone and I will.’

‘Give me a chance, woman.’ He lifted the phone, thumbed in the number from memory and held it to his ear.

It rang twice, then was picked up. ‘Hello?’ Colin sounded groggy. He had been asleep.

‘Colin, it’s Pete. Sorry to wake you, but I need a favour.’

*

Five minutes passed. Then ten. The phone was still silent. None of them was going to sleep until they heard.

‘Who wants a cup of tea?’ Pete suggested.

‘Yes, please,’ said a red-eyed Annie.

Louise nodded.

‘OK.’ Pete headed for the kitchen, put the kettle on and fetched out the mugs. He was pouring boiling water over the sugar and teabags when the phone finally rang. He put down the kettle and headed for the living room.

‘Colin?’ he heard Louise ask.

Silence. He stepped into the room and she held the phone out to him, her expression blank.

He took it from her. ‘Hello?’

‘Pete? Bob again. I’m afraid we need you, mate.’

Shit! Now, of all times?

‘A body’s been found, corner of Pennsylvania Road and Argyll Road.’

‘Eh?’ Pete frowned. ‘I was only up there an hour ago with Jim and the team. What happened?’

‘Dunno. Doesn’t look like it’s linked, though.’

Pete shook his head. He couldn’t believe it was merely coincidence. He stared at Louise. The expression on her face said more than a thousand words. How could he leave her here, now, with things as they were? OK, Annie would be with her, but… He felt as desperate as she was to hear back from Colin, to know what was happening with Tommy. She was fully aware that they wouldn’t be allowed to see him tonight, but they both – all, he thought, thinking of Annie – needed to know how he was faring, at least. And her emotional state was still delicate. It was barely any time at all since she’d got her head straight after Tommy’s disappearance. How would she cope on her own, now he’d been found?

‘Pete?’ Bob’s voice came over the phone. ‘You still there?’

Bob knew the score. If anyone else could have taken the call, he’d have gone to them first. And Pete was duty SIO tonight. He sighed. ‘Yes. OK, I’m on the way.’